The Part I Didn't Tell
by DayDreamerFromAsgard
Summary: Mary can't sleep one night and asks John to tell her the story of how he met Sherlock. He tells her how he met the consulting detective, but not how he met Molly Hooper. It's pointless, but he wants to keep that conversation to himself. One-Shot (No romance, just how John learns about Molly's crush on Sherlock)


**Sorry, I'm not good at summaries! And be warned, I might get a few things wrong! I haven't watched the first episode in a while. **

"John?"

"Yes, love?"

"I can't sleep."

"Is it the baby?"

"...I don't think so. Might be."

John sat up and turned on the lamp. Mary smiled up at him. He squinted in the (painfully) bright light and frowned.

"Well, you don't look tired."

"Yeah, well, that's because I'm not."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Mary paused. "Remember when we first met? And you told me all those funny stories?"

"Yeah. You...want me to tell you a story? At..." -he glanced over at the clock- "one twenty-two in the morning?"

Mary smiled in the way she always did to convince him to do things. John stared at her...Nope, she wasn't changing. "Alright... any requests?"

She looked slyly up at him. "What about the time you met Sherlock?"

"What about it?" He didn't like where this was going...

"Well I've always wanted to know how your first meeting went. How _annoying_ he was, the like...How about this, you tell me, and I'll try to go to sleep. Won't bother you again. Promise." She shot him another devilishly sweet smile. John closed his eyes.

"...Fine."

John Watson walked into the lab at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Leaning on his cane, he looked around at the equipment and chemicals sitting neatly on their shelves. "Well, bit different from my day."

Mike laughed. "You've no idea!"

A deep voice interrupted the two. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

John turned to look at a curly haired man sitting at the table looking down a microscope. He didn't really look like he belonged there. Instead of a lab coat, he wore a dark colored dress shirt.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked with a touch of annoyance.

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry. It's in my coat."

John pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Er, here. Use mine."

The man looked up at the newcomer. "Oh. Thank you." He stood and glanced at Mike before walking towards John.

Mike knowingly smiled. "It's an old friend of mine, John Watson."

The man took the phone from John. Flipping it open, he started to text.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" he asked, not looking up.

John frowned. "Sorry?"

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" He glanced up at John as if checking to see if the man was distracted before diverting his attention back to the phone.

"...Afghanistan. Sorry, how'd you know?"

But he didn't get an answer. The man looked up and as a brunette walked in holding a mug full of strong smelling coffee. He greeted her with a smile. "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He snapped the phone closed and handed it back to John as the woman walked over.

He took the mug and looked at Molly curiously."What happened to the lipstick?"

She smiled nervously. "Oh, uh, it wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was an improvement. Your mouth's too...small now."

He turned around, taking a sip of his coffee and walked back to his laptop, leaving a flustered Molly behind. John frowned.

"...Okay." She turned and walked out, trying to hide the blush that was spreading up her cheeks. John didn't blame her.

Before John could say anything, the man spoke again. "How do you feel about the violin?

John was watching the embarrassed woman leave before he realized the man was talking to him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He looked up from his laptop and smiled. "Would that bother you? Potential flat-mates should know the worst about each other."

John stared at him. He turned Mike."Oh, you...you told him about me?"

Mike's smile grew. He looked to be enjoying this. "Not a word."

John turned back to the man. "Then who said anything about flatmates?"

The man stood and put on his coat. "_I_ did. Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that a difficult leap."

John ignored the last remark. "How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?"

The man disregarded the question and put on his scarf, then picked up his phone and checked it. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walked towards John. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o' clock. Sorry, gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the morgue."

The man slipped his phone into his coat pocket and strode toward the door. John turned and watched him go.

"Is that it?"

"Is that what?"

"We've only just met and we're gonna go look at a flat?"

"Problem?"

John smiled madly in disbelief. He looked at Mike, but his old friend only grinned. He turned back to the man.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."

The man strode closer and looked closely at John, then started to rapidly speak. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother whose worried about you but you won't go to him because you don't approve of him-possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks you limp is psychosomatic. Quite correctly, I'm afraid."

John looked down at his cane and shuffled his feet, not knowing how to react.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" the man said with a smug smile. He turned and opened the door, about to walk out. Then he leaned back in and smirked.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes. And the address is 221B Backer Street." He click-winked, then said a casual afternoon to Mike before leaving.

John stared at the door before looking incredulously at Mike.

Mike beamed. "Yeah. He's always like that."

By the time John finished, Mary was laughing. "'I think I left my riding crop in the morgue'? Did he _actually_ say that?"

John was smiling, too. "Yes, he did, he _actually_ said that." He watched her laugh for a few moments before he leaned over and turned off the lamp. "Now, if I remember correctly, you made a promise." His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could just barely see her face.

"I remember," she mumbled sleepily. John wondered if she had faked the insomnia, but he didn't mind. He slipped under the covers and Mary gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose before she closed her eyes. In a few minutes she was breathing slowly, fast asleep.

But now it was John who couldn't sleep. There was something he hadn't told her; just a little, mostly-irrelevant part, but he still remembered it non the less. As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he went over it in his mind. It was unnervingly crystal clear, as if it had happened yesterday.

"Yeah. He's always like that."

John was quite. Now that Sherlock had gone, his mind drifted back over to his brief encounter with Molly. Sherlock's rudeness to the woman appalled him, and although she seemed fairly used to it, John just couldn't let it go. "But what about... Molly?"

Mike seemed surprised. "Oh, yeah, she works here."

"No, I mean...back there..."

"Oh, that?" Mike chuckled. "Don't worry, she's used to it."

"No, I mean...Never mind. Where is she now?"

"Molly? Well, she should be doing paperwork right now. If not, she'd doing an autopsy."

John limped to the door and peered down the hallway. "Er...which way?"

"Down the hall to the left, second door you come to. It should be open; she's bad about that."

John walked down the hallway, leaving a curious Mike behind. Sure enough, the woman in question was sitting at a desk typing on a laptop in an office with the words 'Molly Hooper' on the door.

John cleared his throat. "Uh...Molly Hooper?"

Molly looked up in surprise. She stood up and smiled nervously. "Oh, er, hi. Do you need anything?"

"No...actually I just wanted to talk to you, if your not too busy-"

"Oh, no, that's alright. What do you need?"

John stared at the white tiled floor."I was just...I was just wondering about, er...Sherlock? If you know anything about him that could...help...me? Seeing as I might be his flatmate and everything..." No, no, no, that wasn't what he wanted to say at all!

"Oh, yes, of course! Well," she took a deep breath and stared at the wall beside John as she talked. "He plays the violin-quite good at it too-when he's thinking, and almost never on request, except maybe on holidays. He doesn't talk when he's thinking, either, and sometimes he'll get into these moods and he'll ignore you. He likes strong coffee, two sugars, but I'm afraid I don't know if he drinks tea..."

"Why would I need to know that?"

"Well, he'll ask you to make it for him. It's kinda what he does..."

"Does he always have you make coffee for him?" It seemed of no importance, but he needed to know anyway.

"Sometimes." She was starting to look uncomfortable.

"And you always do it?"

"Well...what else am I supposed to do?" Now she looked embarrassed.

"Say no, obviously. You...you don't have to do everything for him, you know." he said, his voice taking on a gentler tone.

Molly looked down at her feet, and John felt a pang of guilt. "I...I can't," she mumbled.

Realization struck him and his heart sank. Molly was fond of Sherlock. Of course. Wasn't it obvious? He felt sorry for her. He had only known the man for a few minutes, but he already knew that Sherlock Holmes was not good potential boyfriend material, even with his talent.

"I'm sorry, I...have to get back to work." Molly smiled at him, hinting that the conversation was over. "Good luck on the flatmate thing."

John nodded. "Thanks. Er...Maybe we could...keep in touch?" He was pretty sure he'd need advice for living with Sherlock sometime in the near future, and seeing as she seemed to knew so much, she was the person to go to.

"Oh, you'll be seeing quite a lot of me, I'm afraid. Sherlock comes here often."

"Ah." He smiled and nodded, then turned to walk out the door.

"Uh...John?"

He looked back at her. She was standing at her desk looking at him nervously again.

"Yes?"

She smiled sadly at him. "I know he seemed rude, but Sherlock's nice, really, he's just...different. And...thank you, by the way."

John stood by the door, for the second time that day not knowing what to say. Finally he looked up. "Well, see you then." She smiled and sat down at her desk while John limped out.

**Sorry the ending's bad! I'm not good with endings. In fact, the whole thing is not the best, but this is my first fanfic, so that's my excuse! Actually, I worked hard on this (even though it's a one shot), so it would make my day if you review! And constructive criticism is welcome too. (But please don't be rude!)**

**Also, I got the script from this website:  
**

**Thank you! ~DayDreamer**


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